Loved and Forbidden 100
by Sandra Evans
Summary: 100 Zutara drabbles, oneshots, and vignettes. Newest update: Hands
1. Contradiction

It was hard to describe her; this water tribe girl. If he was forced to sum her up in just a few words, he supposed that they would be 'A walking contradiction.' In truth, that was what she was from the outside in.

Her skin was dark, impossibly so in comparison to the pale complexions of the women that he was accustomed to. However, her eyes were the lightest and clearest blue that he'd ever seen, not that he'd ever seen blue eyes before meeting her.

She was too quick to smile, too quick to frown. She laughed too hard and cried too much. She was as calm and soothing as the waters that she commanded, but she had a temper that could rival that of a fire bender. She was the kindest woman that he'd ever met, but she held grudges longer than anyone he'd ever known.

She was impossible to fully explain in words and absolutely horrendous to live with. In short, she frustrated him to no end.

It was why he loved her.


	2. Vibrations

They argued and fought, and claimed to hate one another. Camp was always a tense affair when the two were present due to the name calling or the tense, sullen silence. Zuko sat at one end of the fire, Katara at the other, glares flying over the flames.

Sokka took joy in the fact that the pair seemed to detest one another so strongly, being as how he disliked the banished prince. Toph was silent about the matter, refusing to involve herself in any way. Aang was surprised by Katara's hostility, and he attempted to offer friendship to the sulking prince. Iroh would just shake his head and note that Zuko never had always been intimidated by the female species, and intimidation tended to bring about the worst in him.

So that night, around the fire, everyone anticipated the harsh words and murderous glances that the pair sent each other. Everyone expected that Katara's face would flush with anger when she shoved Zuko's dinner plate into his hands. It was anticipated that Zuko would back away with an angry retort, his cheeks turning red with impatience at the Water bender's behavior.

Toph couldn't see the spectacle that they made of themselves, but boy, could she hear it. When the others saw the pair's hands make contact when Katara handed Zuko his dinner, they saw them shudder with repulsion. Toph, however, felt something different.

She felt Katara's heartbeat spike, and Zuko's vibrations intensify threefold. So when Katara muttered "I hate you," under her breath, she couldn't fool Toph. The vibrations she felt said something else. They said, "I love you."

And when Zuko mumbled, "I hate you too," Toph knew that he was just saying 'I love you' in the only way that he knew how.


	3. Discontented

Moonlight shone through the open window, illuminating Katara's form with its gentle light. She blamed that moon for her sleeplessness, for the thoughts that swirled in her head like the rip current of her element.

She should have felt warm and comforted in her husband's arms after their lovemaking, but she didn't. She just felt empty.

Absently, she ran her fingers over her husband's hands. They were calloused, and bespoke of hard work and powerful bending. But they were cold hands, and lacked the warmth she needed on a chilly night.

She traced the blue tattoo that came to a point jest below his middle finger and recalled the hand's gentleness as it moved over her, the love that the fingers had bespoke of as they had rubbed her shoulders in slow, tender circles as he had drifted off to sleep. But they lacked the passion and fire that she craved.

And Katara wondered why it was that in the stillness of the night, when she was in her husband's arms and their baby slept soundly down the hall, it was Zuko that was on her mind.


	4. Broken

She sat by a stream, gently lifting tendrils of water and twirling them about her hands. The moon shone down with fierce intensity, illuminating the tears that stained her copper cheeks.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Katara ignored them, continuing to toy with the water. When her brother sat down beside her, she pretended that he wasn't there. She steadfastly ignored the moon, her brother, the world around her… everything but the water. The ever changing water that could heal and save; the water that could have saved _him_ had she not been occupied.

"I know how you feel, you know," Sokka said with uncharacteristic seriousness as he gently rested a hand on her shoulder. Katara pretended that she couldn't feel his touch as she continued to twirl a strand of water about her long, copper colored fingers.

"Like your whole world is shattered and you'll never be able to move on," he continued, looking away from his sister and staring up at the moon. "Like you've lost a part of yourself," he finished softly, closing his eyes as the moonbeams caressed his face with the tenderness of a lover.

Katara swallowed hard, staring down at the water that lapped against her calves. "I just wanted to let you know that I understand," Sokka said softly, gently brushing his fingertip across her wet cheek. "I'm here for you. I could help you, if you let me," he murmured, and then he pushed himself to his feet and walked away.

But he didn't understand. He didn't fight beside his lover, see the sweat and love on her brow. He didn't have the bond wrought only by danger with Yue; he didn't have that much in common with her; didn't know her intimately inside and out.

But Katara had. She'd known all there was to know of Zuko and he her. They were two parts to one whole; brothers in arms, lovers, friends.

Katara swallowed convulsively once more and closed her eyes against the water. The water that could heal everything but her broken heart.


	5. Uncertainty

Who is this woman who stares back at me from the mirror? Her blue eyes are somber, her dark skin flushed. She wears the traditional robes of the fire nation, and a small crown rests on her top knot. She is beautiful, but she is foreign.

Gone is the blue of the water tribe, replaced by hues of deep red, fur replaced by silk. Her face is painted- Kohl lines her eyes and rouge stains her cheeks, both substances that are uncommon in the South Pole. She looks out of place in the red that cloaks this country, and the calluses on her hands snag at the delicate fabric that she wears.

She looks lost, and more than just a bit lonely.

I take a deep breath and wrench my gaze from my reflection, unable to face the fact that this stranger is who I will become. Fire Lady, wife to Fire Lord Zuko.

The concept is so foreign to me, even now on my wedding day. I will be a queen, and with that title come great rewards. I will never want for anything; my children will be granted security and a life of peace in this strange new land. I will be with the man I have loved since I was but a girl of fourteen.

But I will lose my ability to travel; to roam the globe with Aang, Sokka, and Toph. It would not be fitting for a queen to ride on a beast such as Appa, nor to slap those who insult her friends with a stream of water. I will have to guard my every word, making certain not to speak my mind when I wish to do so. I must rule the people of this country with the tenderness of a mother while they whisper about me when they believe I cannot hear.

To be with this man, I must give up everything I love.

As my father comes to retrieve me, I have to wonder…

Is it really worth it?


	6. Addition

"Zuko?" Katara began, propping herself up on one elbow as she looked down at her husband.

"Hnn?" the fire lord replied, rolling over slightly so that he could see her better.

Katara bit her lip, and awkwardly ran a hand through her hair. "Don't you ever get lonely in the palace? I mean, don't you wish there was more people than just the two of us? We have so many rooms to ourselves, and…"

Zuko sighed slightly, and rolled back over. "Toph and Aang are coming to stay in a month, Katara," he replied blandly, and closed his eyes again.

"That wasn't exactly what I meant. What I mean is… wouldn't you like to…extend our family?" Katara asked, toying with the bed sheets.

"We already have Uncle, Aang, Toph, Suki, and Sokka. Does our family need to get any more complicated?" he muttered, and then sat up, his eyes wide. "You're not thinking about including Ty-Lee, are you?" he demanded, and Katara sighed sharply.

"No, Zuko," she replied dryly, and the man leaned back with relief. Katara licked her lips. "It just feels like… something's missing around here." She tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear, and then smiled softly. "Like… the pitter patter of little feet."

"That's because I had the maid set traps for the rats," Zuko replied dryly. "I can't believe you miss that!"

Katara put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. "Haven't you ever considered becoming a father?" she asked bluntly.

Zuko's face when white, then red, then white again. "A…a father?" he squeaked. "Look, honey, I don't think now's really the best time. I mean, we just inherited the throne, and we're still recovering from the war, and…"

Katara took a deep breath. "Zuko… I'm pregnant."

Somewhere outside, Iroh sat sipping his tea, admiring the serenity of the early morning. That was interrupted, however, when a guard ran past him, calling for a medic. Seeing the general, the man paused. "General Iroh! Your nephew may be gravely ill!"

"Wha…"

"He's fainted!" the man shouted before rushing onwards.

Iroh watched the man go with a small smile. "Ah…" he murmured into his tea. "She's told him."


	7. Watching

I watch him with her out of the corner of my eye; it seems like I'm always watching him. When he deigns to look at me, speak to me, I feel my heart soar and my pulse drum. But when he turns from me to look at her, I feel my blood run cold.

It's not love that I feel for him…no, never love. The fact that I have memorized his every feature in my mind's eye, the fact that I can pull his voice out of a throng of thousands means nothing. The fact that I feel like my heart has been wrenched from my chest when he is away and the fact that I am in eternal torment when he is near doesn't mean that I feel anything for him.

No, I don't love him; not at all.

I hear the timbre of his laugh, and know that it is she he is laughing with. I've seen them speak to each other in low voices, seen the blush creep up to his cheeks when he places her hand on his cheek. I see his eyes soften when she draws near, the gentle smile that curves upon his lips when they speak.

I know it is right that he loves her. She is both kind and beautiful, and she never thinks of herself…only her family. She makes him happy, and he hasn't been happy in so long. He deserves to have some joy in his life.

Though I know all this, I hate it. I hate how he sighs and kisses her palm; hate how he can share everything with her when he won't even spare me the briefest of glances. But I'm not jealous; no, not at all.

Because if I was jealous, it would mean that I am in love with him, and I am not. I, Mai, noble woman and ex patriot of the fire nation, do not fall in love.

He laughs again, and I feel my gut clench as he rests his hand on her knee. I ignore the pain that fills my breast as their lips tenderly brush against one another's, and I watch him. I always watch him…


	8. Wrong

"This is wrong," Katara whispered as the Fire Lord trailed kisses over jaw line. "We shouldn't…" she murmured, her eyes sliding closed as he kissed the corner of her lips and his hands fisted in her hair. "Zuko," she breathed, but whatever she had meant to say was cut off when he kissed her.

His lips moved over hers in a soft caress at first, and Katara was drawn back to a time when they were both children, when their love had been sanctioned by their families and their futures were bright ahead of them. But then he deepened the kiss, and she was pulled back to the present: to a forbidden love and a man that wasn't hers to claim.

His wife slept in her chamber, her belly swollen with _his_ youngest child. Katara had healed his little son's burns earlier that day, and had been met by his mother's trusting smile. Now, their faces swam up to her mind's eye, and Katara felt her gut clench.

"We need to stop this," she whispered when Zuko lifted his mouth from her own. They had their time together, and had lost their chance at love. They needed to move on and put an end to this deception. "Please," she pleaded when his hands lowered unfasten her robes.

"I can't," Zuko muttered fiercely against her flesh, and Katara's breath hitched in her throat. They had spent the past three years of their lives this way: eyes that lingered too long in public places, accidental brushings of the hand, trysts in the garden.

"This is wrong," she breathed as her robe fell from her shoulders and Zuko's lips met her own once more.

He drew back from their kiss and brushed his lips over her eyelids. "I know."


	9. Unpleasant Suprise

He didn't know how it happened, really. When his son was born, he was certain the boy would be a powerful bender; his pedigree was impeccable, after all. His father, the Fire Lord, his mother a water bending prodigy. It was only natural to assume that the product of such a union would stupefy all those who looked upon him.

Things hadn't quite gone how Zuko expected they would.

He wasn't quite sure when he realized that his son wasn't the child that everyone expected that he would be. He had seemed normal at first. He had pooped, and cried, and ate, and cried some more. According to his wife, that was perfectly normal behavior.

When the boy was two, Zuko had been delighted to find that the boy had a great intellect. He'd prided himself for that fact once the boy's intelligence was discovered. Unfortunately, the prince of the Fire Nation used his astounding mind to trap his father in various humiliating situations. The Fire Lord walking through the palace in a courtesan's dress had been one of his son's tamer inventions.

By the boy's fourth birthday, Zuko had noticed that the child had an unhealthy obsession with food. The boy would eat the contents of his plate, then that of his mother's, and then that of Iroh's before he would finally turn to his father with pleading eyes. Zuko had blamed that on Katara, much to her annoyance.

By the time his son was ten, Zuko resigned himself to the fact that the boy would never bend _any_ element, and that the child of the Blue Spirit was hopelessly useless when it came to broadswords. However, what he lacked in talent, he more than made up for in charm. It seemed as though the boy always had a girl or two mooning after him.

It wasn't until the boy's twelfth birthday that Zuko identified the source of the problem. Two blue eyed men sat side by side, exchanging the finer points of fire nation and Water Tribe cuisine. One was his son, the other… his wife's idiot of a brother. The pair frowned the same way, laughed the same way, and had the same ridiculous sense of humor and sarcastic tone.

Zuko, Fire Lord and master Fire Bender, had fainted upon the conclusion that his son was _just like Sokka._

And what was worse: the idiot water tribe warrior never let him forget it.

* * *

I would really appreciate if you guys could give me prompts, challenges, or requests for these drabbles. Although I'm shamed to admit it, I'm beginning to run out of ideas. So, all help is welcomed, and I promise I'll try to do a drabble for every idea extended.


	10. Morning After

If anyone has a challenge or request, please let me know! I'd love 2 work w/ you

When Zuko woke up, he was aware of only one thing: his head _ached_. And not just a little pounding in the temples, mind you, but a full blown roaring pain that forced all other thoughts from his fuddled mind.

The second thing that he was aware of: he was curled around something very warm, and very, very soft.

Zuko forced his eyes open, and groaned as an exceptionally bright stream of light flooded his senses. He squeezed them closed again, relishing the darkness. What on earth had been in the tea he had served the night before? It had seemed safe enough, and Katara had even complimented him on…

And then, Zuko froze. _Oh, shit. _

The warm being beside him moved, and Zuko swallowed convulsively as he forced his eyes open. Katara was sleeping beside him, her shoulders bare and her hair splayed out over his arm. The arm that was curled tightly around her waist, no less.

_Shit. _That seemed to be the only word in Zuko's vocabulary that could suitably cover the situation. He shut his eyes again, wracking his brain. He remembered making the water tribe girl tea long after everyone else had fallen asleep. He remembered how she smiled at him through her tears. And he remembered that he was sitting beside the fire, leaning closer and closer to Katara, and then… absolutely nothing. Blackness.

Zuko cursed again, and rolled over, burying his head in Katara's neck. Katara's very bare neck, he abruptly realized. _What, by Agni, happened last night?_

A shadow fell over the sleeping bag, and Zuko's brow knit together. "Not now, Uncle!" he demanded, his head swimming.

"You have ten seconds to explain what you're doing in my sister's sleeping bag." Zuko grimaced at the sound of the water tribe warrior's very tense, very dangerous voice. "And if you can't come up with a good excuse, I'm going to be forced to kill you."

Zuko winced. "Talk softer, peasant, you're making my headache worse," he muttered, rolling farther into the sleeping bag, desperate to ignore the blinding sun and the ear-splitting voice of the water tribe boy.

"That's it!" Sokka exclaimed, and lunged towards Zuko, only to be stopped by a rock wall thrust upwards by Toph. The blind girl cackled, and Zuko pulled the blankets over his head to block out the sound of the warrior's outraged screams.

And he decided one thing: morning afters _definitely_ were not fun.


	11. Illogical

"Love takes up where knowledge leaves off." (Saint Thomas Aquinas)

It was senseless. Complete and utter foolishness. They couldn't be in love! They were enemies! His father killed her mother; his country destroyed her tribe. He was fire, she water. He was rage and she was calm. He was full of sorrow and she was full of life.

Their love defied all knowledge; all reason!

And yet, when Aang saw the look in her eyes, he understood.

* * *

I couldn't stand having a bad peice up here just to fill space, so I'm replacing Ozai with this.


	12. Summer's End

"The harvest has past; the summer has ended, and we are not saved." (Jeremiah 8:20)

* * *

I was a child when I truly glimpsed war for the first time. I was ill prepared for the brutality of it, and am plagued still by the memories of my village aflame. My story is like that of countless others, but unlike the majority, I immersed myself in the war.

At fourteen, I believed myself to be a woman. Little did I know what a child I was. Foolish and naïve, I journeyed with the avatar about the world. And despite all the atrocities that I witnessed, I still believed that every human was innately good; that everyone deserved a second chance.

We escaped from the clutches of the Fire Nation more times than I can count. Then, I had believed it to be a product of our skill. Now, I realized that it was sheer luck. We were children, after all, and those that sought us were seasoned generals.

In my idealism, I had believed that we would win the war with the same ease that we won the insignificant skirmishes we partook in. I believed that the banished prince of the Fire Nation would remain our ally, and give us the aid we needed to kill his father. How wrong I was.

The day of the Black Sun dawned far too quickly, and by noon I realized the truth: it was a massacre. Suki was the first to fall, followed shortly by my grieving brother. Toph lasted until the late afternoon, but she couldn't sense the bombs dropped from the air. I had been witness to each of their deaths. Aang, Zuko and I made it to Ozai's throne room, determined to avenge the deaths of our family members.

Zuko betrayed us. I had trusted him, loved him even, and he handed us over to his father on a silver platter. The hands that had held me so close several hours before shot a lightning bolt at the avatar. Aang hadn't seen it coming; he died instantly.

Childishly, I had always believed that love was eternal, that good would triumph over evil. That day, I was forced to face the truth. My beliefs were the foolish ones of a little girl.

The war was over, and we were not saved.


	13. Heal with Hugs

"…To heal with hugs"

Zuko was never one for open displays of affection. His desire for such things disappeared long ago when his mother had vanished. He stayed to himself, purposely separating himself from the tight knit group and any bond that they might be willing to form with him.

He had too much baggage as it was, and refused to add anything else to the load that he already carried. After all, it seemed that everything he loved was stripped away from him. His mother, the one person who could soothe away his hurts with the touch of a hand, had disappeared. His father had scarred him. And he was banished from the country he loved more than any other.

However, the blasted waterbender refused to leave him alone in his misery. Although he glared at her whenever she drew near, and remained silent whenever she spoke to him, she kept returning. She always managed to sneak him some extra rice at dinner; always found an excuse to talk to him when he stalked off to be on his own. And somehow, the warmth in her blue eyes always managed to find a way to lift his troubled spirit.

Gradually, he began to smile back at her; to trust her rather than rebuff her. And eventually, he told her all that had happened. He'd started when a slim pair of copper arms twined their way about him in a fierce, compassionate embrace.

Zuko didn't realize until then just how much a hug could heal.


	14. Old Age

I had my time in the sun, believe me. Long ago, when I was heir to the throne and a good deal more muscular, I had to beat the women off me with a stick. Now don't laugh. I'm serious. Old Uncle Iroh was once a pretty fine piece of work.

The years have been kind to me, I suppose. Despite the graying hair, the loss of the throne to my brother, and my ample girth, I've lead a good life. Old age, believe me, is a good and pleasant thing. It is true you are gently shouldered off the stage, but then you are given such a comfortable front stall as spectator.

For instance, I can see past my young nephew's insults and blunders to see his true feelings for the young girl we travel with. And, by the way her eyes flicker towards him, I know that little Katara feels the same way. Young love… so wonderful to be in, but even better to observe from afar.

Being in the front stall as a spectator is quite lucrative as well. Sokka and I have had a standing bet for some time now over the pair's feelings for each other. Being as how I just witnessed them kissing out of the corner of my eye, I'd say that the young man owes me three gold pieces. And a foot rub.

Yes, old age is certainly quite a comfortable time.

* * *

To apologize for the horrible writing of the drabble entitled Ozai, I've decided to make it up to all of you by writing several more comprehensible drabbles. Enjoy!


	15. Not an Idiot

Despite what everyone thinks, I'm not an idiot. Sure, I have problems deciphering rocks from groundnuts, but hey, groundnuts don't exist where I grew up. And of course, when it comes to girls I'm always sticking my foot in my mouth, but I'm a teenage guy. In all honestly, what do you expect? As I said, I'm not stupid.

In fact, I'm smarter than everyone thinks I am. For instance, I knew how Zuko felt about my sister long before she did. It was the simple things that gave him away, really. His eyes lingering on her for just a second too long… the smile that only came to his face when he was speaking with her… Really, I'm not dense. I notice these sorts of things.

And I've also noticed how my sister has been looking at him recently. Her eyes get all soft, and she gets this smile on her face… the same smile that Yue used to give me. I've pretended not to notice when their hands touch, pretended not to see the messages they send each other with their eyes. It's easier that way.

But tonight, I realize that Katara understands that I've known all along. As Zuko takes her hand and goes to draw her away from the campsite, her eyes catch mine, desperate for my approval.

I love my sister more than anything else in the world, and despite all of our bickering, I'd do anything to ensure she doesn't get hurt. I protect her with my life; hey, that's what big brothers are for!

So, if you would have asked me a couple months ago if I would sanction the union of Katara, the girl I'd die to save, and Zuko, the prince of the nation that killed my mother, I would have thought you were crazy. Even then, I would have known that such a relationship was a heartache waiting to happen.

Now, however, I see things differently. Katara loves this man, and I know for a fact that he would never let anything happen to her. And although I feel my heart constrict as I do so, I meet my sister's pleading eyes and give her the briefest of nods. She flashes me her brightest smile, and allows herself to be led away.

Tomorrow is the Day of the Black Sun, and if my baby sister wants to spend what could potentially be her last night on earth in the arms of Prince Zuko, I'll let her. Because being a big brother isn't just about protecting. It's about learning to let go as well.

I'm not an idiot, after all.

* * *

One of my personal favorites.


	16. Seven to Go

Katara eyed herself critically in the mirror, and grimaced slightly at her reflection as she turned to the side. "Zuko, do I look fat?" she called, and her husband stopped breathing.

The mother of all questions. And she had to ask it now! Just before a state dinner! Zuko glanced out the window and cringed. The state dinner that they were currently late to. "You look beautiful," he recovered quickly, kissing the top of her head.

Katara rolled her eyes. "That's not what I asked you, Zuko," she replied, her eyes never once leaving the mirror. She lightly pinched her upper arms, her face screwing up when she found little pads of fat beneath her fingers. Then, she rested her hands on her stomach, and her face contorted even more when she found it wasn't as lean and smooth as it used to be.

"You're perfect," Zuko replied, frowning at the way she poked and prodded herself. _Are all women this crazy?_

"But my cheeks look a little fuller," she complained, and Zuko's gaze traveled to her backside. Katara caught his eyes in the mirror, and growled at the back of her throat. "My other cheeks!" she exclaimed, pointing to her face for emphasis. Zuko's eyes traveled back upwards slowly, and he gave her a lazy smile.

"And look at this!" she exclaimed, lifting her arm and pushing the small bit of flab beneath it so that it gave a slight jiggle. "That's never happened to me before!" she exclaimed, and as she did so, Zuko could hear her voice begin to choke with tears.

"Katara…" Zuko soothed, glancing out the window again. _Damnit! I can't be late to this. _"Honey, it's okay," he said as kindly as he could, although his nerves were beginning to fray. Katara jerked away from him and buried her head in her hands, her muffled cries developing into full fledged sobs.

"Look, its normal for a woman in your condition to gain a little bit of weight…" Zuko tried again, and Katara's head snapped up at the comment.

She furiously brushed her tears away, and glared at the man sitting beside her. "So you're telling me I am fat?" she demanded, drawing the water from a nearby potted plant and shaping it into a whip.

_Damn those hormones! _"Honey, remember what the doctor said about bending. It could hurt the baby," he cautioned her, eyeing the water whip nervously.

"I don't care what the doctor said! Spirits curse the man!" she exclaimed, and then she caught sight of herself in the mirror again. Once again, she dissolved into tears. "I'm so ugly!" she gasped, and the water whip fell to the floor, soaking the carpet.

"No you're not," Zuko protested, but Katara paid him no mind. She threw herself onto their bed. "I look like a big, fat cow!" she sobbed, clutching at the covers.

"Honey…"

"Yes I am! A big, fat, ugly, flabby, pregnant cow!" she managed past her tears.

_I really don't have time for this… _"They'll have cake," he bribed, remembering all the times that she had forced him to make the long, long trek to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning.

Katara sniffed, and glanced up. "What kind of cake?" she asked tremulously.

Zuko grinned. "Chocolate."

Katara beamed as she pushed herself off the bed and quickly ran a hand over her dress. "Well why didn't you tell me that before?" she demanded, grabbing Zuko's hand and dragging him out the door with a large smile.

Zuko groaned inwardly. _Two months down, seven to go. _


	17. Firsts

The first time that she had ever fallen in love had been with her enemy. She was repulsed and terrified by her emotions, but they were there, and she was unable to ignore them. When he began to fight beside her, however, she cursed their differences to hell and allowed their fledgling romance to blossom.

The first time that she made love had been under the full moon on the eve of the final battle. Although purity until marriage was an essential custom of her tribe, it hadn't mattered to her. If she had only this one last night to live, she would live it the way she chose to, unhindered by custom and tradition.

The first time her heart had been broken was by the same boy that she had first loved. He was betrothed.

The first time she felt the stirring of a baby within her, she had cried. Her child would never have a father, for Zuko was married to another woman on that day.

The first time she held her son in her arms, the only thing that she could think about was just how much he looked like his father. The golden eyes of her little boy haunted her, for he peered at her with Zuko's gaze.

The first and only time that Katara was married, the man she loved had been in the crowd. Aang held her hand and whispered the words of his love for her, she had been unable to return them.

She had shared so many firsts with Zuko, so how could she force her feelings for him to end?


	18. Lost

Somehow, Katara always managed to get her way. When she was a small child, she had made good use of her large blue eyes. She had learned that if she angled her head just so in the face of the sun, her eyes would catch the sunlight and sparkle, bedazzling those that she pleaded with and almost always made them give into her demands.

When she grew older, she had learned that charm and flirtation worked the same way that her childish antics had. A gentle brush of the hand here, a soft smile there, and the boys were putty in her hands.

When flirtation and bedazzlement failed, there was always tenacity. In the Northern Water Tribe, she had made good use of her stubborn streak to wear down Master Pakku. The man had been tough as nails, but her strength and determination had eventually wore him down.

Yes, one way or the other Katara certainly always managed to win.

Except on the day of the Black Sun. Her big, blue eyes, tenacity and charms were rendered useless as she watched Zuko be cut down by his father. And no matter how much she pleaded with the Spirits, no matter how many bargains she made, he would never come back.

There are just some things that can never be won.


	19. Red

Red was a color that Zuko knew he would never be able to forget.

It was the color that symbolized the land that he had been birthed in; the land that he was banished from while still a child, unable to fully grasp the gravity his situation. It was the color of the country that he would one day rule.

It was the color of his mother's robes; the shade of the residue left on his forehead when she kissed him. It was the last color he'd seen of her when she left.

It was the color of his element: red flames, heat, and fire. It was the most prominent of the many shades he saw when he be bent the flames to do his bidding.

Red was the color of the blood that stained Katara's lips when she told him that she loved him for the first and last time. It was the color that he had seen when he had cut down her attacker.

Red was the color that he could never forget.


	20. The Time of the Day

"It is good to see you again, Fire Lord," she says in the light of the morning, before his courtiers and the ambassadors of the other Nations. He replies in turn from behind a wall of flame, his voice cool and impersonal. She nods and moves on, keeping her eyes averted from his blurred form.

"We were good friends," she says with a smile as she dines with his wife in the mid-afternoon, throwing Zuko a friendly glance across the table. Zuko smiles slightly, and voices his agreement with a rare show of warmth.

"I love you," she whispers in the still of the night, far away from the prying eyes of his court and family. He clutches her tighter and buries his head in her neck, and she feels the dampness of his tears in her hair as he responds that he feels the same.

And then the morning arrives and they put the night behind them, becoming Ambassador Katara and Fire Lord Zuko once more.


	21. Until it is Lost

As they traveled together, she never thought much on their relationship. Zuko was her friend, a person whom she cared for simply because he had been adopted into her ever growing extended family.

It wasn't until he fell in battle that she realized that it was he who carried her through the tribulations they had been through; that it wasn't the fire that warmed her when she sat beside him, but the heat of his shoulder against hers. That his eyes hadn't been apathetic at all when he looked at her, but guarded so that she could not see how he truly felt.

And it wasn't until she understood how much she would lose upon his death that she realized that she was in love with him.


	22. The End of Forever

"Forever," he'd whispered when he first kissed her, and she had believed him. She gave him her heart, her mind, and her body, and she trusted that he would never abuse her gift. She believed in forever, believed in hope and love and trust.

"I'm sorry," he'd said later on, unable to defy the demands of his country. He returned her heart, bruised and bloodied, left as pained and anguished as the expression on her tear streaked face.

Forever only lasted for so long, as she was too late to find out.

_The magic of first love is our ignorance that it will never end. (Benjamin Disraeli)_


	23. Don't

"Stop it," Katara said lowly, her eyes trained on the pond.

"We need to talk," Zuko replied softly, his breath tickling the back of her neck. He stood close to her, but not so close that they were touching. The distance was maddening for the pair, but neither took the step to close the gap.

Katara closed her eyes and let out a heavy breath of air. "Stop."

Zuko sighed, and then looked out over the pond as well. "My mother used to bring me here," he whispered, suddenly finding himself lost in memory. "We used to feed the turtle ducks together." He laughed a little and then shook his head. "She taught me what it meant to care about someone; how to love while surrounded by hatred."

Zuko paused, and then slowly reached out to rest his hand on the girl's shoulder. He felt Katara tense beneath his touch, but he didn't draw away. "There have only been two women that I've ever loved," he admitted, and Katara swiftly shook her head.

"Don't," she breathed, squeezing her eyes closed as she strove to ignore the boy's words.

Zuko continued as though he hadn't heard her. "One was my mother," he said, and then he gently trailed his hand from Katara's shoulder up to the sensitive skin of her neck. "The other is…"

"_Please,_" Katara whispered brokenly, feeling tears form beneath her closed eye lids.

"You." Zuko finished, taking the plunge and moving the step closer. He wrapped his arms around the girl's middle, his chest pressed against her back, and felt her tremble at his touch.

Katara said nothing, but the tears that had begun to gather flowed freely down copper cheeks. "Don't do this to me," she choked out after a time of silence, and Zuko squeezed her tighter.

"I love you," he breathed, ignoring her plea as he pressed a kiss against her temple.

"You can't," the girl replied, her hands balled into fists as her body shook, her heart heavy with anguish.

"But I do."

Katara took in a shuddering breath, wanting to step away from the boy's embrace but unable to move. "I'm getting married," she finally found the strength to say, and Zuko's throat closed as he buried his head in her neck.

"You're not married yet," he murmured, his chest constricting as he gently kissed the sensitive flesh. His lips grazed the necklace that another man had carved, and Zuko felt his stomach sink.

"Stop," Katara whispered again, her voice choked with tears.

Zuko stepped back and then turned Katara around so that they were face to face. "You love me too," he whispered, trailing his fingers from her forehead down over her face and then to cup the back of her head

Katara said nothing, only shook her head as tears continued to pour down her cheeks.

"I can see it in your eyes," Zuko added, and Katara squeezed them closed so that he couldn't look into them and read the truth.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Katara asked tremulously, planting her hands against Zuko's chest as she attempted to push him away from her. However, her hands half clung to his shirt, rendering the effort pointless.

"Because you won't be happy with him."

Katara swallowed and shook her head. When she finally summoned the strength, she opened her eyes and met the boy's gaze.

They had been through so much together, she and this boy-turned-Fire Lord. They had saved the world at the cost of their families, had become adults while still in the bodies of children; they had lost everything they believed in to restore the faith of millions.

Even though they had been through all of that, their love was still forbidden. They would be shunned by the world that they had given their souls to save and they would disgrace the memory of the family that had given their lives for them. They would be together, yes, but they would live in guilt and shadow.

Katara loved him, yes, but she couldn't live her life her life like that. She belonged to the world that she had saved, and her own feelings were of little consequence.

"I wouldn't be happy with you either," she whispered, and she saw Zuko's eyes cloud over with pain at her words.

She wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him that she loved him too and that everything would be alright. She wanted to hold him close to her, to kiss him gently, to spend the rest of her life getting to know this boy before her. Instead of doing what he wanted, she closed her eyes against his pained face and turned away from the boy that she loved.

"Katara," Zuko said hoarsely, reaching out to touch her.

Katara walked away, although her heart ached as she did so. "Don't," she whispered softly, the weight of the world resting in the word.


	24. Understand

I saw her for the first time today. Yes, I realize that technically I've laid eyes on her many times, but I've never truly _seen_ her. Running for your life tends to have that affect on you. So it was that I observed her for the very first time.

Her black hair is glossy, her pale face plain. There is no beauty in this girl; her nose is long and her eyes are narrow, her cheekbones too prominent and face too sallow. Those slanted brown eyes are as cold as ice, and I've never once seen her pale, thin lips turn up into a smile.

I wonder what it is that he sees in her.

It's been four years since I saw him last…or w it five? I can't remember. We were children back then, fighting a war we feared we wouldn't win, and losing a battle in our hearts. We loved each other, you see… at least as much as children have the capacity to love.

We were afraid, and in that fear, we didn't learn that our feelings were reciprocated until much later. By that time, it was too late. We had built ourselves separate lives in separate countries, and had changed so much that we no longer knew each other.

She was in his life as well.

When he first spoke to me about her, I can't deny that a stab of jealousy went through me. The feelings that I had thought were dead rose swiftly in my breast, and I attempted to stifle them as best I could. But the thought of another woman in his arms… it was enough to drive me crazy. And because of this, I thought about her all the time. What was it that endeared her to him? Was she prettier than me? Kinder?

Today was the first time that I had a chance to meet her face to face, and I found her more than lacking. Her conversation was dull, her expression unchanging. More than once I caught her filing her nails or staring across the room with a vacant expression in her eyes.

It wasn't until I stepped into the gardens that I understood. They sat side by side on a bench by the turtle duck pond. They were silent, but they didn't need words to communicate. She held his hand as she stared up at him, and the look in her eyes… it was one of utter love and devotion.

No wonder he sees something in her: she loves him, probably more than I ever did. He doesn't look back at her with the same spark in his eyes, but something is there nonetheless.

I left them alone, slipping out of the garden just as quietly as I had entered it. And although my heart was heavy, I finally understood.


	25. Understand part 2

She came today. I realize that she's been here before, but never so that we had a chance to meet. Zuko was always careful about that sort of thing, up until now. He says that there was no way to avoid it this time, and although I want to believe him, I can't.

They say that you never forget your first love, and she was his. I have a feeling that no amount of time will ever be able to erase his feelings for her, or hers for him. So I looked forward to the meeting with great trepidation, wondering if Zuko would at last exchange my plain form for her beautiful one.

When she first saw me, she greeted me with a wave and a smile, as though I were a dear old friend. Her enthusiasm didn't quite reach those expressive blue eyes of hers, however, so I know that she was just pretending for his sake.

When he greeted her, he remained by my side, his voice friendly but not too much so. I know that he wanted to pull her into his arms and hug her for all that he was worth, but he wrapped his arm around my shoulders instead. This he did for my sake.

She was every bit as beautiful as I remembered, her long dark hair arranged impeccably and the kohl lining her blue eyes making them seen even larger and more entrancing. She was small, but every feature was perfect. She is an easy girl to hate, I must admit. Even if I weren't jealous of Zuko's affections I would probably still dislike her.

The conversation was strained between the pair, and I didn't bother to converse at all. It is better to seem bored than jealous; better to appear nonchalant than hurt. I pretended not to notice how Zuko would stare at her for just a moment too long, how he had to hold himself in check when he went to lean towards her. I consoled myself with the thought that he had not yet left my side, although that was little consolation. I knew that his heart had already fled mine, so what did his body matter?

When the evening was over, I was grateful. Zuko and I retreated to the garden, leaving the blue-eyed temptress behind us, hopefully for the very last time. We didn't speak as we sat side by side on our bench, but Zuko seemed to understand how hurt I had been by the encounter. He took my hand in his and squeezed it tightly, letting me know that he was there for me; that he may not love me as he did her, but at least he cared for me a great deal.

It takes me a moment, but I squeeze his hand just as tightly as he had done mine. For despite how it pains me to know that the man I love is in love with another woman, I understand. And I love him all the more.


	26. Rippled Reflection

They say that the swamp shows you things- that it reaches into the recesses of your heart and draws out even your best hidden emotions. The first time I had ventured to travel through the dark, frightening marsh, it had showed me my mother. The second time, however, it led me to a mirror. It was with curiosity that I approached the looking glass, but when I saw the image reflected there, I sank to my knees in surprise.

The woman in the mirror was me, but at the same time, she was a different person all together. With her angular features and soft beauty, she resembled my mother more than I. My distorted mirror-image's lips were full and parted, as though she were struggling to capture a breath. Her blue eyes were heavy lidded, and filled with an emotion that I have not yet experienced. Her hair was tousled, as mine often looks when I first emerge from bed in the early morning.

But what was most surprising was not my image, but of the one behind her. A pale skinned man stood, his fingertips lightly grazing my mirror images' neck. His finely chiseled features were held in a posture of tenderness and indescribable love. My breath caught in my throat at the obvious emotion, and for the briefest of instants, I wondered if this was my future- to be cherished by the pale skinned man in foreign dress.

Still in a state of slight disbelief, I reached out and touched the mirror's surface with my fingertips. Instead of the cold, hard glass that I had been expecting, I made contact with a cool, silvery liquid that rippled across the surface of the image. The woman within suddenly met my eyes, and the softest of smiles curved upon her lips as she lifted a hand to her neck and rested it on a necklace that was unfamiliar to me. The ripples continued to wash across the mirror, but before the image was distorted completely, I made out a certain identifying trait on the man.

A scar.

I caught sight of the rippled flesh that spanned from the inside corner of the man's left eye to his ear before reflection had completely faded. I blinked once, and it was simply my own full, childish face that peered back at me. I touched the mirror once again, and my hand met cold, unrelenting glass.

Shakily, I drew myself to my feet and hurried away from the mirror, determined to leave the image far behind me. I had only seen one man- no, boy- who had possessed such a mark, and I was unwilling to even contemplate a future with such a person. So I forced myself to forget the mirror and that horrid swamp, and continue living as though I had never seen the couple in the mirror.

It wasn't until many years later, when I was sitting at my dressing table and Zuko had leaned down to kiss my neck that I remembered. For the briefest of instants, my reflection had changed to that of a wide eyed little girl, staring at me with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. I smiled softly, remembering the child that I had once been, and then the image faded away.

"I love you," Zuko whispered, and my smile widened. It had been my destiny to be cherished by the foreign man after all.

And for the first time, I was thankful to the mirror, and to the swamp that had showed me my future when I had been too young to understand it.

* * *

This drabble was inspired by a piece of artwork by casualsinner on deviantart.

Please review and let me know what you think!


	27. When a Man Falls

_Mai's thoughts..._

* * *

They say a man only falls in love once, and that when he falls, he falls. If that relationship ends, however, he will eventually find it within himself to care for another. He will protect her, shelter her, and love her in his own way, but she will never truly hold his heart. That part of him will always belong to the first.

And no matter how hard she tries, he will never look at her like she's the only woman in the world. For him, there are now two. And the second will always feel the presence of the first- in every touch, every whisper, and every move that he makes. But she will learn to accept him the way he is, because she loves him and she can't imagine a life without him.

So she accepts the mantle of second, learns to avoid the shadows of his past. She embraces the here and now, and ignores the far-away look that she sometimes sees in his eyes. She pretends that she does not know that he longs for the first. She imagines that he is in love with her…her and only her. She tries to fill the void in his heart, and sometimes deludes herself into thinking that she has succeeded.

But she hasn't, and she never will.

For a man only falls in love once.


	28. One of Them

He loved her once, I know, and I know that despite our relationship, a part of him still loves her. He must, for he made love to her, married her; made her his queen. And so there must be some remnant, some lingering part of his heart that loves her just as much as the whole once had.

I never thought that I would be the other woman in a relationship. In fact, for most of my life I shunned those women who were, looked down on them, regarded them as tramps and whores. Women such as that were treated harshly in my tribe, beaten and cast out on occasion. Most often though, they were forced to deal with sharp whispers and the deprivation of human affection for the remainder of their lives. A fitting punishment, I had always thought. But then…then I became one of them.

I had never intended to begin an affair. It had started out so innocent… we were friends; he had saved my life and I his. We became each other's confidants; I knew more about him than even his wife did. He shared things with me that he was unable to share with others, and I with him. Oftentimes, we would meet out in the garden, and talk until the sun had just begun to rise.

And then, somewhere down the line, our friendship morphed into something much greater, something more intricate and complex. I often felt guilty for no reason, back in those early days before the feelings had obtained a name. I was often confused, my stomach clenching, my heart pounding roughly in my chest. And then…one day…I understood. The confusion, the guilt, the sudden complexity of our relationship…it all stemmed from one fierce, strong emotion: love.

I loved him, more than I had ever loved anyone in my life. I loved him despite propriety's demands of the contrary, despite the guilt and anguish that twisted in my gut. I loved him despite all that he had done to me…despite the fact that I knew he had a wife. And it didn't horrify me nearly as much as it should have.

At first, I tried to push my feelings…our feelings…away. I attempted to stop our night time talks, tried to treat him warmly, and yet without attachment. But it was impossible. Neither of us wanted what we had to end before it had a chance to begin, neither of us was willing to abandon the path that our hearts were setting before us. Both of us wanted to love each other, despite the fact that we knew we shouldn't.

He promised me that he was leaving his wife, that she didn't make him happy, that he wasn't really in love with her. And I cling to those promises, in spite of myself. I long for and dread the day that he will set Mai aside in equal measure. I realize that I have become one of those women that I had shunned not so long ago, but I cannot bring myself to care enough to stop myself from traveling down this path that I have started on.

And although I know that a part of him still loves her, that a part of him always will, and that there is a good chance that one day he will hurt me as much as he will surely hurt her… I will still love him. My heart has decided; to love and lose is the only choice I have now. And I have made that decision gladly.


	29. I wonder

I'm drawn to him as I've never been drawn to a man before. As we talk, I fight the urge to lean into him and rest my head against his shoulder as he speaks. As we walk along the dusty road, it takes all my willpower to keep from reaching out and taking his hand in mine. It is an attraction that is more than lust, something that transcends the physical realm all together… something I can't even begin to define.

I wonder if he can see… I wonder if he knows that beneath the smile and good natured teasing, attraction is lurking. I wonder if he feels it too… that desire to be near, to hold, to sit in quiet, companionable solitude.

He has Mai, and I have Aang, and we are such good friends… I am content with things as they are. And yet, I can see how easy it would be, if we were to one day choose to be together. We are so close to one another, of such similar natures… and even though he has done awful things in the past, I somehow can no longer hold any of them against him.

I wonder if this is love…this comfortable friendship, this subtle desire. I wonder if being drawn to a man as much as I am to him has some great meaning, if it is some sign the Spirits have sent that he is my match.

And then I berate myself for wondering such things. He is my friend, one of my very best friends. I may wonder if this is love, but he never will. He has beautiful women throwing themselves at his feet; why in Spirit's names should he ever look at me? Besides, he has Mai, and I have Aang, and a relationship would change the dynamic of our friendship so completely.

But still, I wonder…


	30. I Love You

"I love you." The words were so casually spoken, so seemingly innocent. They shouldn't have caused a thundering in her head, shouldn't have set her heart to racing, shouldn't have caused her palms to sweat and lips to tremble. And yet, these were more than words… This was an admission of something deep, and strong, and all consuming.

He had made himself so vulnerable by uttering those three simple words. Even with his face obscured by shadow, she could see how his eyes had suddenly grown timid, saw how his hands clenched to fists at his side. He needed reassurance, and everything in her screamed to give it to him, to make his shoulders straight and his eyes full of fire once more.

But how could she say those simple, soul shattering words in return when she didn't even know if they were true? He was one of her very best friends, and if she were to be truly honest with herself, she would have to admit that she cared for him in a way that went beyond friendship. But love? Did she really love him?

Katara bit her lip and took his clenched hands into her own, gently rubbing circles over the skin with her thumb. She knew she loved him at some level, as she loved Sokka and Aang and Toph and the rest of the gaang. She cared for him more than she cared for herself; she would willingly give her life for his. But could she see herself growing old with him? Could she picture him as the father of her children? She did not know.

But his expression was so hopeful, and there was a light in his eyes that she knew she could so easily extinguish. His heart was in the palm of her hands, and it would take so little effort to crush it, so small a time to completely shatter him and cause him even more pain. Could she do that to him? No. She couldn't. She wouldn't.

"I love you too," she murmured softly, and his grin widened before he crushed her to him and kissed her. He would never know that she had told a half truth, would never know that she was still uncertain of the full extent of her feelings. She would make sure of it. His life had been so full of heartache… she would give him this one happiness.


	31. Selfish

Close…so close… they can feel the heat of each other's breath on their flesh, can feel one another trembling even in the warmth of the summer night. Lips brush against lips, warm and wet; breaths hitch, hands tremble where they are knotted in coarse, thick hair. Skin brushes against skin as clothing falls to the floor in a whispered sigh.

Fear is present in both pairs of eyes; their nervousness evident in every touch, every breath. Eyes avert and faces flush and she begs for him to put out the candle; never before has she felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Never before has he felt so anxious, so strange. The light is snuffed and they rely on their tactile senses in the darkness.

The moments that follow are tense and awkward. Embarrassment nearly takes over before it is pushed away, and then pain takes hold. And then tears are replaced with soft moans, fingers are curled into sheets, nails dig into flesh.

It is something tense and strange and good and new… something they wish they could repeat often, but know that this night is all that they can have. When the sun rises, they will leave this place. She will return to the boy who needs her love to survive this cruel world, and he to rule the ruin of a kingdom he has inherited.

They will sacrifice themselves; they will be selfless come dawn. But now, under the cover of darkness, they push aside thoughts of tomorrow and indulge in selfish bliss.


	32. Tired

She is tired all the time, but not the kind of tired that goes hand in hand with exhaustion. She is tired when she lays her head down at night, and tired when she lifts it in the morning. A weariness has settled in her bones, and it makes simply moving through the day difficult. And she feels like there is something broken inside, something that aches and twists and churns, and that leaves her feeling profoundly empty. Like there is a hollow space in her chest that makes her feel both numb and unfulfilled.

She wonders why that emptiness grows all the more fathomless when she meets his gaze, wonders why her exhaustion is all the more palpable when he is not by her side. She wonders why Aang's love is not enough to fill the hole in her heart, why his kisses no longer make her stomach flutter. She wonders why, in the dead of the night, she has the sudden, irrational urge to be wrapped in strong, warm arms- arms more larger and more muscular than Aang's could ever hope to be; wonders why warmth curls in the pit of her belly when Zuko makes her laugh.

And then, one day, out of nowhere, the answer hits her. She is in love with him, honest to the spirits, in over her head, truly and deeply in love with him. The emptiness, the weariness, are not merely from the last vestiges of the war. They are from the knowledge that what she wants most is the one thing that she can never have. How could she ever look into Aang's gray, gray eyes and tell him that she does not love him? That she has fallen in love with his teacher and friend instead? How could she bear to hurt Mai, the stone faced, quiet young woman who hid a tender heart behind a stony wall of grief? And how, how could she face Zuko, one of her closest friends, and face rejection at his hands? She can not. She does not have the strength.

Or possibly, she is too strong. She is strong enough to shoulder the pain, to make peace with the emptiness; to live with the weariness so that she will not hurt those whom she loves. So she buries the pain and pretends to smile. She hides her heart and continues being her friend's lover and her lover's friend.


	33. Some things never change

He remembers the first time he stumbled upon her practicing her bending. They'd been at the Western Air Temple, and the moon was high in the sky. Silence had descended over the camp as everyone had fallen asleep; even the fire had ceased to crackle as it too had succumbed to slumber. And yet he had lain awake, the buzzing and clicking noises of the cicadas mirroring the thoughts that whirred through his mind.

He had been thinking about the twelve year old little boy he was helping to train- a boy who was entirely too young to have the fate of the world resting upon his small shoulders. He had been thinking about his sister, about his father, about the Agni damned war that had killed too many innocents, had shattered too many childhoods, all as a result of his family's ruthless ambition. Guilt had twisted and curled in his gut, and had made sleep impossible.

He needed a release for his emotions, needed the fire that flamed in his belly to be worked out through his limbs, needed the intensity of his movements and the sweat on his brow to cool the frantic workings of his weary mind. So he had left his pallet and gone in search of somewhere distant from the group in which he could bend out his frustrations and his guilt and his anger and his fear without waking anyone.

And then he had seen her.

She had been standing in a fountain, her hair soaked with water, her limbs and torso slick with her element, her face tilted up to the moon. She had been twisting her hands smoothly and gracefully, a stream of water following her movements languidly. The moonlight made her seem paler than she was, more beautiful, more ethereal. There was something entirely untouchable about her then, her soft face lifted, her lips curved up into a small smile.

And then suddenly, upon further inspection, she had seemed all too lovely, all too touchable. Her white bindings were see-through from the water, and he could see where her dark nipples were on the swell of her budding breast. A drop of water had been sliding down her torso, heading down to the juncture of his thighs. He had flushed with embarrassment at the time, and had crept away as quickly as possible with all the stealth of the blue spirit. Still, the image had remained in his mind, and it had been the inspiration of many a late night fantasy for years.

He shakes his head a little, and watches her now. She is no longer standing in a crumbling old fountain, but rather she is waist deep in the pool of the Royal Gardens. Like the first time, her face is tilted up to the moon, her arms moving slowly and languidly. But this time, there is a difference. Where a girl on the cusp of maturity had once stood, a woman now stands

Gone were the bulky bindings of the past. Tonight, she wears a silk robe that slips off her shoulders and clings to full breasts, wide hips, and lean thighs. Her once soft and childish face has morphed into that of a rare and exotic beauty with long lashes and full lips. He remembers how for years, the image of her childish body had tormented him, how he had dreamed about removing those hideous bindings and kissing those small breasts and running his hands over those narrow hips. That image now seems so innocent, so far away.

Where had his little Katara gone? And who is this sensuous woman who has taken her place? It is amazing what two years of separation can do, he thinks, and he steals away from his hiding place as quietly as possible.

He knows that this new image of her will haunt him for years to come, much like the image of the first time he'd seen her bending had. They have changed, she and Zuko. He had become Fire Lord, she a stunning woman and remarkable ambassador. But while they have changed… well, some things never will.


	34. Still

Usually, she believes that she no longer loves him. When she feels Aang's arms close around her body and hold her tight, she feels content, happy, and satisfied. When she walks through her home of ice, stops to chat with fellow villagers, and helps deliver her tribes-member's children, she smiles, and cannot imagine living anywhere else.

And yet, sometimes, she can't help but to remember and long for him. On those rare occasions that the sun comes out and caresses her skin, she remembers his long, warm fingertips dancing their way across her body, remembers the look of devotion in those molten gold eyes of his whenever he glanced her way. When she stares too long at the crackling fire, she remembers how his lean muscles had moved as he had bent his element to his will.

She has nearly convinced herself that she is over him, that her love for him has died away. But times like those, times when the memories are so vivid that she can taste him, recall the feeling of his hands moving through her hair, feel the texture of his skin beneath her fingertips… She realizes that no matter how content she is, no matter how happy she may be, no matter how much she may try to convince herself otherwise, her love for him will never cease to be.


	35. Hands

Silently, under the cover of darkness, he reaches for her hand. At first, it is nothing but a whisper of flesh against flesh as he traces the contours of the palm of her hand with his fingertips. Her breath catches in her throat, and she absently wonders if the sudden, loud thudding of her heart will wake their companions. Her thoughts are cut off, however, when his fingers slowly begin to stroke along her own. They continue a path up and down, slowly, leisurely, before he laces his fingers with hers and gently squeezes. When their hands join, she feels a jolt deep in her belly.

She remembers the way her heart had pounded when Jet held her tightly in his arms, remembers how her stomach had fluttered when Aang had pressed his lips against her own. This feeling, the feeling created merely by two hands joining, gives her more butterflies than anything she's ever done with any boy before.

Swallowing thickly, she moves her thumb in slow, lazy circles along his, and he scoots a tad closer to her so that their thighs are touching. Then, ever so awkwardly, he puts his other arm around her and draws her closer to him. "Is this okay?" he whispers, a slight tremor in his voice. Instead of answering, she lays her head against his shoulder, and she can feel the tension drain from his body. He rests his head on top of hers and hugs her close to him, and she feels as though she's obtained a slice of paradise.

They sit silently, never moving, never speaking, scarcely breathing, afraid to shatter the fragile bond that has just begun to form. At one point, she feels him turn his head, senses his lips come close to her temple before quickly pulling away without making contact. She is grateful that he stopped, grateful that he is being cautious. Yet a part of her wonders what it would feel like to kiss him, to have him clutch her to his chest and touch lips to lips, tongues to tongues. If the jolt she gets from holding his hand is any indication, a kiss will be utter bliss.

The day will come when they will both be ready to be more than two young would-be lovers cuddling under the cover of darkness, but that day is not today. For now, however, she is content to sit as they are, silent and sweet, her head on his shoulder and her hand in his, before the fire and under the moon.


	36. First Love

They say that you never forget your first love. Perhaps it is because your heart is pure, whole, and unbroken. It is the one time in your life that you are capable of loving someone with all of it, that you can give it away in its entirety, that it bears no scars or sores or half-mended wounds. You are naïve enough to believe in forever, foolish enough to place your trust in his good intentions and your best laid plans. You are innocent.

And then, your heart gets broken. And when you grieve, you weep not only for the loss of that person, but also for the loss of the person that you used to be. For when your heart breaks, you never fully recover. Gone are the youthful fantasies, the easy trust, your belief in forever. You learn to build a wall around your heart, to only give the next man a small corner of it. You learn to be hard and wary and to rely on yourself.

And so the only person that you've ever truly given yourself to is the first.

You move on… you'll always move on. You vow to forget him and brush away your tears, and lock his memory away in a corner of your scarred, bruised, battered heart. You soldier forward, find someone new; you fall in love again.

But then you hear his name… as I heard his name… and that memory rattles against its chains. And when you have the misfortune to bump into him, as I chanced to stumble across him, with your lover's arm around your waist, that corner of your heart screams and cries and weeps when he introduces you to the slim, pale girl beside him. He introduces you as his old friend, and you smile and you shake her hand, but you meet her steely dark gaze and you know she knows, know that she feels your presence just as surely as your lover feels his.

And you wonder why life can't be fair, why love can't last forever, why hearts have to break.

And you wish that you could love the others as much as you still love the first.


End file.
